70 '< '- '\. poiNf OfV\t , ... <to. '>. .... - "'" --, ' ,.,', , , ......^ -" ") , , '" ....;... .... -: - --- - ,.' .-!' - . . .. .. .e- ".: ..-. < 'IM_ .': '_ - NEST STORES _ ':-" AVA\LABLE AT THE F\ YORK \00\8 F;NE SPORTSWEAR B i '; 1410 BROADWAY NEW FOR ONE NEAR yOU WRITE ù , OUR TASSEL PUMP IS WELL CRAFTED, DISTINCTIVELY STYLED ' \ Aside from the classic lines that lend themselves to a great many outfits, this good-looking calfskin shoe fea tures a comfortable, stacked mid-heel and leather lining. In navy or wine. 51f2 to 10, AAA to C $84 Available at Madison Avenue and selected branches, or by mati. ) \ " .... << ............ """""'- ESTABUSHED 1818 OCTOBER. 5,1981 leave, for I must have been no more than seven at the time. Nor was it a decision as much as a touchstone I kept in my head. We had been visited by a remote uncle, Willie Darling, who had gone to live in Christmas Island as a consulting engineer, and who spent his week with us illuminat- ing that place with endless stories, pulling creased photographs from his wallet, reciting the names of exotic fruits as we struggled through our salt porridge. What dawned on me then, piercingly, was that ways of living, ways of thinking were human con- structs, that they could, and did, vary wildly, that the imperatives the Scots had accepted were by no means abso- lute imperatives (except for them), that the outside world must contain a vast anthology of ways of being, like alternative solutions to a fundamental problem. As that realization took root in me, I was already distancing myself from Scotland-at least, from its more forbidding aspects. I had no idea at all about where I wanted to go, or how, or anything like that-only that I would. And I did. St. Andrews turned out to be my point of departure. I left it after a brief first year to go into the Navy, and by the time I got back, after the end of the Second W orld War, I had seen the Mediterranean, the Red Sea, the In- dian Ocean, and enough ports of call, enough human variety, to make St. Andrews seem small and querulous. Yet the allure still hung over it, and I felt it still-felt the place to be, espe- cially in the wake of the war years, something of an oasis. I have come and gone countless times since, re- turning, perhaps, because its citizens can be relied on to maintain it in as much the same order as is humanly possible. (In every town in Scotland, you will find houses occupied by near- invisible people whose sole function seems to be to maintain the house and garden in immaculate condition, as unobtrusively as they can. In New Galloway once, I watched a woman scrubbing the public sidewalk in front of her house with soap and water on two occasions during the day. She may have done it oftener, but I did not feel like extending my vigil.) The presence of the university and the golfing shrines has allowed St. Andrews to preserve a kind of feudal structure: the university, beIng residential, houses and feeds its students, administers and staffs itself, and so provides a pyramid of work for the town, as does golf, whose faithful pilgrims keep hotels,